That Last Something Meant Anything
by Zagury
Summary: Ginny reviews past events of her life with Harry. Based off of Mayday Parade's 'That Last Something Meant Anything.'


There are quite a lot things you remember when you've dated and lived with the Chosen One your entire life. There are quite a lot of things you remember when you've married and had children with that person as well. There are quite a lot of things you recall painfully, quite a lot of things you recall emotionally, and quite a lot of things you recall unconsciously.

I remember those weeks when we had been dating. Oh yes. Harry Potter was my first true boyfriend; the only one I had ever really loved. My heart had felt shattered when he had to break away from me, just to keep me safe.

The weeks we'd had together were amazing, and yes, he was right. But I didn't want him to be. I wanted to go with him; I wanted to protect him. Maybe I was only a sister to him; maybe I was still just a defenseless little first year to him. Maybe I was still the little kid that couldn't speak around him, and maybe I was just Ginny Weasley to him.

I had waited so long for him, had wasted too much time on my dreams. He was the reason I wanted Tom Riddle to understand me. That was one of those things he never really caught on about. Riddle was the reason I have those nightmares. Riddle was the one that manipulated me, made me think I was worth something.

But really, I didn't feel worth something that first year. The boy I had affection for didn't really know I was alive, and maybe that wasn't the real problem. Maybe it was my inability to speak around him, my feeling of utter worthlessness near him. When he had spoken to me in that chamber, it was out of concern and pity. Not out of curiosity or interest.

Maybe that's what I had been looking for that first year.

The thing about Harry was that he and I had a strange chemistry. We could sit in front of that fire in the common room until dawn and not be finished saying what we wanted. We both had the same head about things; our stubbornness, our smarts, our passions, and that overruled everything else. Maybe my parents were still alive, and maybe I didn't have scar that drew eyes to my forehead. But I had been possessed by Voldemort, I had nearly died in that chamber. I had drove through immense pain to find mystery and disappointment.

Maybe that's what got Harry and I through those weeks.

The year we were separated was difficult, as he had my brother and my best friend. It was odd to be the only remaining Weasley left at Hogwarts. Even with Neville and Luna with me, my company fell short, my sides empty when I walked through the hallway. It was strange not to have Hermione helping me write Potions essays, or have Ron get me through a mood.

It was strange not having Harry brooding by the fire.

I remember that year, sitting in the common room. I remember leaning against Harry's legs like I used to when we were dating, even though my back was pressed against the couch. I remember Ron sitting in the large, rather comfortable chair and laughing. I remember Hermione curled up next to me on the cushions, sometimes reading and other times talking with us.

We used to sit there and talk about everything, the four of us. It seemed as though that was our destiny: just sitting in front of the fire and making jokes. Just talking, laughing, as though tomorrow we wouldn't have to face our biggest fear. That we wouldn't have to separate tomorrow, or attend our headmaster's funeral, and that we wouldn't have to say goodbye for possibly the last time.

_Well, I thought that we could sit around and talk for hours  
About things I couldn't say to you,  
And things that we could never do.  
And this conversation has had no face.  
When the words take days, you can re-write and erase anything.  
_

Sometimes I let my mind wander back to those few hours by the lake Harry and I shared. Sometimes we just sat and studied, others we sat and talked. Every now and then, as I would be reading, he's look at me and just stared. He used to sit behind me, my back fitting into his chest. His right hand used to rest on my waist, and his left would play with my hair. Sometimes he would read over my shoulder, and sometimes he was content to kissing my shoulder and neck.

The cold metal of his glasses used to press in my face when we kissed. I recall taking those off at one point, letting myself trail off at the sight of his pure green eyes without a wall. My face used to press into his shoulder when he hugged me, and each time he always kissed my head. He used to come up behind me in the common room when I was sitting at one of the tables by the window. He used to startle me, letting my heartbeat quicken before he would kiss me.

When we were at the funeral, he did not startle me. He did not read over my shoulder or kiss my neck. He did not wrap me up in his arms and kiss my head. My back did not get the chance to fit into his back. His hands did not rest on my waist or play with my hair. His glasses did not press into my face, and I did not get a chance to take them off. We did not get a chance to sit by the lake and study or talk. He did not get the chance to stop and stare at me, and I did not get a chance to have my heartbeat quicken.

We didn't have a chance to be together.

What he told me had hurt me, like he didn't want us to be together. But when he said he wished he'd asked me sooner, I knew then that everything was going to be okay. He would come back to me. I knew he would. He would come back alive. He had to.

He was Harry Potter.

He'd said that I would be in danger if I stayed with him. I didn't know then if I cared or not, all I knew is that I wanted to be with him. He made his point of this being a funeral, and if it was mine someday he wouldn't be able to live with himself. I didn't understand then why he didn't protest against Ron and Hermione on this point, but they had been with him since the beginning. And I had not.

Maybe that sixth year for me was so different because I was the only Weasley, or maybe it was because they were all gone. Maybe it was the Carrows and the torture, and maybe it was that I found out how to be Ginny without all of them there.

Somehow, that year, Harry and I found each other. It was mutual, of course, but we had the overwhelming desire to be with each other, just to keep us safe. We never speak of it, but in our own way, we know it. If that year hadn't been so deathly and horrid, maybe we would take the time to mention it.

_You know my heart  
(So tell me all that's needed.  
Do you ever really want this?)  
Knows all this.  
_

But since Harry knew I was still hurting because of Fred, Tonks, Remus, and the countless other deaths, we didn't mention that sixth year. We hardly mentioned the seventh, with him in Auror training and I finishing my schooling with Hermione and Ron. That wasn't quite as painful, as we did write nearly every day and saw each other on Hogsmeade weekends.

Somehow, Hogwarts functioned that year without Dumbledore's quiet rule or Snape's hard one. McGonagall was promoted to be headmistress, though she kept the same rules as Dumbledore. Her rule wasn't enforced, as she was just a teacher to us, just the head of Gryffindor. Sometimes she was kind enough to us to call Harry down from work and give him permission to be there. Hermione and Ron would join us too, and it would be just like that fifth year. We sat in her office and talked for close to hours, mostly about Harry's work and the school.

Harry and I really didn't get back together until a few months after that war. He escorted me to all the funerals, held my hand when I pushed my fingers through his, wrapped his arms around me when my eyes disobeyed and leaked the water. Each time he was strong, never breaking in front of me and holding to his own. Over that summer before I would return to school, we sat at the Burrow with my family and Luna. Sometimes we had the house to ourselves, but found we didn't want to take advantage of it like we would've when we were dating.

Instead, we sat and talked on that worn couch in front of the fire. Every now and then I would end up in tears, my face pressed against his chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. Each time he was silent, letting me weep until I couldn't any more. We had some sort of unspoken agreement to that, the undefined language we had grown accustomed to. We never even hinted that we wanted to travel up to my bedroom. The passion for that wasn't existent any more. I was still grieving over my brother and friends, Harry over his allies.

Somehow, we understood that perfectly.

In the few months following my grieving, we did get back together. But our relationship was different, as though some sort of reverence had fallen over us. Everything was taken slowly, even the kisses. We knew we had all the time left in the world, thanks to him. The passion we had once had was ignited slowly, almost painfully so for both of us, but even then we didn't seem to care.

We found ourselves, just the way we wanted it.

At one point, during a Hogsmeade weekend, he had brought all my letters to him down to town with him. We'd sat there in the snow, reading over the millions of words that I had composed. He used to point out some sentences, his fingers traveling easily over my pen. He used to whisper the words in my ear, his lips tickling my skin.

_And I'll borrow words from all my favourite paragraphs,  
To write about all of these faded things  
We hope would mean the most to me.  
And each line is sent, I have found a new page of hope _

_For the days when I felt like I've lost everything._

Oh yes, I remember those days.

Something overcame us when that happened. It wasn't fierce in any sense, but it wasn't subtle either. My back would somehow find the curve of his body again. His arms used to hook themselves around my body, hugging me closer to him. Our fingers twined, our eyes staring at the letter as our heartbeats calibrated and found each other.

We hardly speak of that either. It was one of those moments that we committed to memory, and I often visit it in the Pensieve. Sometimes, when we lie in bed at night, that synchronizing happens again. He feels it too, I know he does. He responds by smoothing his hand over my stomach each time, kissing my cheek before trying to go back to sleep.

I remember when we had first broken up after the war. My work was becoming stressful, his as well. We couldn't find the time for each other in the midst of our success and passion. It had hurt to come back to his flat for dinner and want to go home. It had hurt for the both of us. During our free time, we would try sleeping or working away the stress by playing Quidditch together. It didn't always work, but a fair game kept us balancing what we wanted and what we could do.

Hermione had come over to my flat, preparing me a steaming cup of tea as I sat silent at my kitchen table. I didn't shed tears; I didn't think Harry would want me to. I didn't need to. My best friend has sat across from me, just as quiet as I, while I watched the steam rise from her cup. She may have said something in the few minutes we were motionless. She may have offered her words of comfort and friendship and love.

I wouldn't be able to tell you.

Ron had also paid me a visit, though the reasons were different. His company had lightened my heart at the very slightest, just to hear my twit of a brother rant on about the Cannon's. Just to see his shining blue eyes sparkle at me the way they used to when we were little, making due with the rocks and sticks of our outdoor adventures. Maybe that's why I hadn't cried over Harry Potter.

I didn't have any desire whatsoever to do so.

There were times when I doubted that Harry and I should ever cross paths again. I wanted to bang down the door to his flat sometimes just to see his face. Just to see his smile, and only to make him laugh. I wanted to hear about the devastating Auror department and all of the crimes that were happening. I wanted to hear about Kingsley's rule at the Ministry. I wanted to kiss the bloody boy.

Needless to say, I missed Harry Potter with all of my heart.

_You know my heart  
(So tell me all that's needed.  
Do you ever really want this?)  
Knows all this.  
So I'll sing this song for everyone _

_That's come out lost._

He owled me from time to time. His letters weren't quite as fun as they used to be, lacking of his love and our jokes. But he spoke to me just the same at the end each time.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I haven't seen much of you lately. I miss that. I just wanted to check in and see how things are going. I would step in personally, but I guess you understand when I say it's hard to make some spare time. _

_I have this odd feeling that things aren't quite going well with you. I just want to know if you're okay. Maybe we can meet for lunch or dinner sometime and catch up. I miss beating jokes at Ron._

_Love, Harry_

I couldn't tell then if Harry was affected by our parting. He knew something was wrong with me, that much was clear. But what was I supposed to tell him? That I had met some bloke at the Cauldron and decided to move on with my life?

I never replied to any of Harry's letters.

I had to wonder if he understood what love at the end of a letter meant. Did it mean "I love you" or did it mean "Love is sent to you?" Did it mean he still cared about me in the way that I had cared about him? That I still cared about him?

I had never been more distressed over a boy before.

But, then again, this was only Harry.

_But, I'll be okay. _

_(Is that what you want me to say?)  
It's called breakup  
Cause it's broken.  
Yeah, and I'll be okay. _

_(Is that what you want me to say?)  
It's called breakup  
Cause it's broken. _

There were a lot of things I more or less wondered about when we were apart. It was the same things I had constantly thought about during my sixth year. All of the things I had missed and all of the things I couldn't help but remember.

Regardless of what I was thinking, Harry was thinking it too.

He had appeared at my flat one fall evening, his face hard with a mask when I had first answered the door. At the sight of me—or perhaps, my worried expression—he softened up. Suddenly, there was pain on his face, a pain I knew altogether too well. We had been separated for two months.

He had stepped into my flat, putting his hands on either side of my face and kissing me like never before. It was frantic, sweet and intoxicating all at the very same time. My hands had tousled his hair a considerable amount in my attempt to pull him closer to me. Maybe that attempt had been worthwhile; all I can really recall is the way he had reacted to just me.

Just Ginny.

There was a mutual agreement that came after that kiss. We couldn't really live without each other anymore, not after all we had been through together.Harry had closed the door behind him with his foot and proceeded to kiss me again, this time softer and gentler. Even after that, my head had curled under his chin easily, just like it used to, and his arms had held me in his warm embrace.

That was the last kiss we had shared that night. We'd sat down on my worn sofa with mugs of hot tea and simply talked. Just like we used to in the common room, except we were alone. Maybe we didn't mind that so much. Maybe the comfort of our friends had actually been a barrier that kept us from getting closer.

We would never tell.

As I had been drifting off, he leaned over to me and brushed back my hair. I remember he always loved to play with my hair. He looked at me closely then, our faces a comfortable distance away. His eyes roamed every hill and valley of my face: the circles under my eyes, the crease starting to form on my forehead, and the weariness within my pupils.

"Hey Gin?" He had asked me.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry."

"Me too, Harry. Me too."

_And yeah well, you try so bad to tell me that you  
Make it that you were sorry and the  
Lines we said  
Never meant the words we meant  
_

The nights following that were rushed somewhat. We either had dinner or sat and talked again. It was hard to avoid dinner conversations at the table. We never really liked having those, they were always awfully bland and boring.

The day of my twenty second birthday, Harry made love to me. I had read about it, had asked Hermione what it was like for the mere purpose of insight, but none of that could have prepared me for the wonderful feeling of being all Harry's.

And Harry being all mine.

He showed me what it was like to truly love someone. In the moment that we were connected, united as one, I felt my inner being explode from the passion and truth I felt towards him. His eyes had snapped open to meet mine, and in the instant we spared, we twined our fingers and held on. After that, my body could handle no more and the emotions inside of my head—as well as my body—released and Harry collapsed on top of me.

"Ginny," he'd said, propping his chin up on my stomach. I had only looked at him, fingers still linked with his as my free hand fiddled with the bed sheets.

"Say yes, Ginny." I had smiled at him, bringing his hand up to my lips and planting a soft kiss there. My fingers traced his scar, remembering how I had told him that he wouldn't be my Harry without the silly thing. My hand traveled down his face, my fingertips stopping at his lips. He pressured them for a second and my hand moved to ghost his cheek.

"Yes, Harry." He had beamed at me, leaping up to kiss me like he had all those years ago. I grinned under his mouth, whispering, "Always yes, always for you," and he kissed me again.

"Happy Birthday, Gin," he said, resting his head on my shoulder. I felt the warmth of his breath tickle my skin as the cold metal of his glasses chilled it. He fell asleep soundly right there, all of his worries gone until he woke in the morning.

It was then that I had time to reflect on everything that had happened with him. It was then I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, regardless of our problems. It was then that I was destined to be Mrs. Ginny Potter, and it was then that my life—our life—began.

_Well, I thought that we could sit around and talk for hours  
About things I couldn't say to you,  
And things that we could never do. _


End file.
